


If You Can't Shag Your Friends...

by BirdofFire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Multi, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdofFire/pseuds/BirdofFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the author of 'A Game, A Bet & A Dinner Party . When Hermione suffers through the worst week of her life and a devastating public breakup, she asks the Weasley twins for their help in getting past a certain relationship-destroying hangup. With that request, however, certain unforeseen revelations come to light. But if you can't shag your friends...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

**Summary:** From the author of _'A Game, A Bet & A Dinner Party'_ . When Hermione suffers through the worst week of her life and a devastating public breakup, she asks the Weasley twins for their help in getting past a certain relationship-destroying hangup. With that request, however, certain unforeseen revelations come to light. But if you can't sleep with your friends...  

**More Info:** this tale explores the most eventful night this side of Samhain and the complicated friendship between the occasionally foolhardy Hermione Granger and a certain pair of twins that don't take no for an answer..

 

_If you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it. Feedback and helpful critique is always appreciated._

 

 

* * *

 

**If You Can't Shag Your Friends...**

* * *

 

**Part I**

* * *

 

The sound of joyous laughter hit Hermione Granger even before an overwhelming wave of warmth escaped from inside the shop. Momentarily disorientated, she took a step back, swallowing hard. She should have just turned Pansy down; told the former Slytherin that she couldn’t leave the office before Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes closed at eight pm. With the heavy workload that accompanied her latest project, it would have been believable and, most likely, Pansy would have let her off. Her conscience, however, would have been a very different matter.

After a rocky start, she and Pansy were finally forming something that could be called a friendship and, what with the other woman’s now six month-old relationship with Harry Potter, Hermione’s best friend of over a decade, the last thing the brunette wanted was to rock the boat. For the first time since their first year in Hogwarts, Harry seemed truly happy; the heavy burden of enforced responsibility that had weighed him down during his youth a thing of the past, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that that was largely down to the former Slytherin. And, if there was anything Hermione valued more than her own interests, it was those of her two long-time best friends.

Sighing heavily at the knowledge that she had no choice (and also having no desire to stand out in the heavy rain any longer), Hermione pushed the door to 93 Diagon Alley further open and stepped in, shaking out her umbrella as she did so. The smell of gunpowder and strawberries made for an odd combination, hitting her nostrils with considerable force. Coughing instinctively, Hermione took in the bustling scene before her.

Even with just ten minutes to go before closing time, WWW still contained more people than almost every other Diagon Alley store combined. Hogwarts students (identified by their house scarves and lengthy shopping lists) shopping for the upcoming autumn term rushed around, toting laden baskets full of merchandise; parents prodded and poked at various products, looks of confusion and occasionally distaste on their otherwise weary faces; older individuals, understandably more relaxed than the others, made choice selections – clearly there to make their regular purchases.

Hanging her umbrella on the silver goblin-shaped stand hidden in the crevice beside the door, she shrugged off her trench coat and folded it neatly over one arm. Somewhat strangely, Hermione had yet to spot either of the store’s infamous flame-haired owners. Typically, they were found rushing around the store, popping up behind unsuspecting customers and showing off their latest products.

But perhaps it was for the best. She didn’t feel up to seeing any of friends today. Not after the horrendous week she’d been having. In a five-day run rivalled only by her year on the run with Harry and Ron, Hermione had come to believe that someone up there truly had it in for her.  Monday had seen a key plan fall through that would now lead to a month’s delay in the course of the project; Tuesday, a downpour that left her drenched and with the most god-awful head cold; Wednesday and Thursday, three of her employees had seen fit to embark on an ambitious endeavour that ensured a further fortnight of delays; and now, today. Confirming that God had indeed seen fit to ruin Hermione’s life in more than one area, Friday had borne witness to Terry Boot, her boyfriend of almost five months, dumping her unceremoniously in front of half the lunchtime crowd at the Leaky Cauldron.

Needless to say, Hermione was not in the best of moods. But a promise was a promise and, if there was one thing Hermione Granger did not do, it was go back on her word.

Setting aside her misgivings, Hermione gathered her resolve and headed through the busy store floor, winding through colourful aisles, loud explosions and a crowd that was rushing to score as much merchandise as possible in the last nine minutes. Pansy had showed up at Hermione’s office for lunch late last week, cap in hand. The former Slytherin had been desperate to get hold of one of those limited edition green Pygmy Puffs Ginny Weasley was so fond of for her sister’s birthday. Unable to make it over to WWW before heading off on a much-anticipated holiday with her third of the illustrious Golden Trio, Pansy had begged Hermione to buy one for her and send it off to Hogwarts by next Tuesday.

Now in the very centre of the floor where the twins kept their best-sellers, several brightly-coloured cages containing almost a hundred numerous small bouncing creatures caught Hermione’s eye. Breathing a sigh of relief at still not having crossed one of the twins, the brunette breezed over and unlocked the cage, selecting a dark green one from the back.

Great. Now if she could just –

   “Hermione!”

Oh, crap.

Heart sinking into the wooden floorboards, Hermione turned to see a wide, cheerful grin and twinkling blue eyes. Fred Weasley, legendary prankster and proprietor of one of the fastest growing franchises in Wizarding Britain, stood before her, a dark smudge of gunpowder on his cheek.

   “What are you doing here, ‘Mione?” he asked, reaching out a hand and tugging on a lock of Hermione’s curly hair, mischievously. “Skin trouble? We have something for that, you know.” Hermione rolled her eyes as Fred chuckled at his good-natured ribbing. Her complexion was perfectly fine, thank you very much.

   “No, Fred,” Hermione was exasperated but a small smile still graced her lips. “Just picking up a Pygmy Puff for Pansy.”

   “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well stay and have dinner,” He said, leaning down and opening an empty cage. He threw something small and wriggling into it before quickly slamming the cage-door shut and continuing, “We’re having chicken parmesan.” Fred raised his eyebrows up-and-down quickly, now towering over Hermione once again. Hermione was shaking her head in refusal before she even realised it. She was barely handling this short conversation; the last thing she wanted was to have to put on a front throughout an entire dinner.

   “I’d love to, Fred, really,” she started, apologetically. “But I have so much work to do for Monday and I haven’t even started yet. You know how I get.” There, that was a legitimate-sounding excuse. Everyone, their mother _and_ next-door neighbour knew how fanatic Hermione was about having work completed often weeks before its due date. Fred would have to let her off the hook.

But the Weasley twin frowned, taken aback. “Oh, come on, Hermione. It’s just dinner. You’ve got all weekend to finish it.” Hermione shuffled, uncomfortable.

   “I-I really can’t, Fred,” She stuttered, knowing that if they were to continue speaking, she would blurt out something inadvertently or give something away. She might have managed to fool her work colleagues thus far, but the twins were notoriously (and surprisingly) intuitive.

Hermione tried to edge past a confused Fred, but didn’t get very far before a large hand gently grabbed hold of her upper arm.

   “Hermione,” Fred’s voice was lowered as he drew her closer. “Is something wrong?”

   “No, of course not,” Hermione’s voice was as even as she can make it, her thudding heart picking up the shortfall. She consciously maintained eye contact with the flame-haired man. “I’ve just got so much work to do and…”

   “Well, then if there really _is_ nothing wrong,” Fred’s eyes were knowing, his small smirk even more so. “You’ll come to dinner with us.” His tone turned persuasive. “We never see you anymore, ‘Hermione.” His words ended on a rumble, his eyes more fervent than was characteristic. The brunette was held enthralled, his gentle grasp burning into her upper arm.

  “Come. We’ll go to La Barbe and you can bore us senseless about your week.” His voice was almost a persuasive purr now, his eyes searing into hers, the noise of the crowd reduced to a low hum above which rose the pounding of her own racing heart. Hermione swallowed hard and, noticing this, Fred’s irreverent smirk made its unwelcome return.

   “You know you can’t resist that chance. We won’t even fall asleep this time,” he continued, cheekily. Merlin, he was infuriating.

   “Ugh, fine!” Hermione gave in, casting her eyes to the wooden beams in the ceiling. “But I have to be home by nine.” At her reluctant surrender, Fred’s grin stretched across his face, eyes doing a merry dance.

  “Great! Just let us lock up and we’ll be all yours, you devious minx,” He ducked the swipe she aimed at his head and, after giving her a quick peck on the cheek, tore off into the now dwindling crowd in a blur of red and burgundy. Despite her misgivings, Hermione couldn’t prevent a small smile from coming to her lips.

She paid no heed to the small voices shouting warning at the back of her mind.

…..

   “… So we tried the green one-“

   “You know, the one that we hadn’t tested yet-“

   “And nothing happened! Nothing!”

   “The bowl started overflowing; stuff just kept… coming-”

   “And he’s there, crying like a baby, crap shooting out of him at 300 miles per hour-“

   “ _We’re_ there trying to scoop the stuff up with anything we can find-“

   “Trying everything. EVERYTHING-“

   “But he just wouldn’t stop _shitting_!”

   “Stop, stop!,” Hermione was in tears, her chest wracked by sobs of laughter. “I can’t… I’m _eating_ for God _’_ s sake!” The twins grinned at her, irrepressibly, over their baeckeoffe.  “That is so _disgusting_!”

The three friends were seated at a candlelit table in the centre of La Barbe, the hottest new French restaurant in Wizarding Britain. After the twins had locked up their store and dragged a still reluctant Hermione the mile-long walk to the fashionable eatery (with the former Gryffindor Princess being grateful that the violet sheath dress she’d worn for work was just as appropriate for a night out), they had been granted highly coveted admittance without a reservation. So it went when you were two of the most successful entrepreneurs in London and accompanied by the female third of the famed Golden Trio.  

Fred and George had caught Hermione up with their happenings over the last few months; spending the last hour regaling their female companion with tales of various mishaps, unfortunate occurrences and numerous successes – all inflected with their natural infectious humour.

   “We don’t know why you’re judging us, Granger,” George’s blue eyes glinted, mischievously, over the table. “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s you.” Hermione’s eyebrows shot the ceiling.

   “Oh?” Amusement rang through her voice. “And how is that?” Fred leaned back into the velvet-cushioned bench of the alcove, a devious smirk crossing his lips.

   “Well, if you hadn’t quit-“

   “I didn’t quit!” Hermione was laughing despite her indignant tone. Fred continued on as if she hadn’t spoken.

   “- We probably would’ve been alerted to the missing ingredient a lot earlier.”

   “Damn straight, Fred,” George picked up, playfully, swallowing a mouthful of Bordeaux. Hermione’s jaw dropped. The nerve! ****

“I can’t _believe_ you two.” Hermione threw a napkin in their general direction, feigning anger, but the wide smile on her face gave her away. She knew the twins weren’t really upset about her turning down their offer to continue working for them a few years ago, but they still loved to play the card every now and then. After joining the twins the summer after her ‘eighth year’ to gain some work experience (not that, what with her unofficial war-earned credentials, any employers had been asking for them. She’d received hundreds of unsolicited job offers in June alone), the three had grown close – almost as close as she was to Harry and Ron. Hermione had helped the twins develop some of their best-selling products but had stuck to her summer-only agreement and joined the Ministry’s finance department, despite Fred and George’s pleas to stay on indefinitely. The three tried to meet up as much as possible but what with Hermione’s unpredictable hours, that was less often than they would have liked.

   “And it’s ‘Granger’, now, is it?” Hermione asked, playfully, eyebrow arched. George forked up some mutton and potato, smiling cheekily, while Fred tilted his head back, eyeing her.

   “Apparently,” he drawled, eyes flashing, confrontationally. Hermione rolled her eyes. When Fred got into this stubborn mood, he could be unbearable.

   “Whatever, _Weasley_ ,” the brunette directed back, sipping her Merlot. While her gaze was on her glass, her taste-buds savouring the hints of berry and currant, the twins exchanged agreeing glances.

   “What’s wrong, Hermione?”

Hermione glanced up, long-suffering. It was a known fact that Fred and George had a tendency to change subjects at the drop of a knut; often ambushing their victim with little to no prior warning. Just what were they up to _now_?

   “There’s been something wrong all evening,” George continued, his blue eyes boring into Hermione. “What is it?” The former Gryffindor Princess swallowed, eyes flickering between the two flame-haired men seated across from her.

   “What _are_ you two talking about,” Hermione feigned ignorance even as her heart drifted down a few inches. Letting a carefully bemused smile play across her lips, she took another sip of Merlot. Judging by the twins’ serious expressions, though, they weren’t buying what she was trying to sell.

   “Don’t play us for fools, Granger,” Fred took up, his mouth quirked almost cruelly. Hermione’s heart thudded hard and she brushed her chest to soothe the ache left behind. This is just what she had wanted to avoid. So far, the enjoyable evening and the twins’ distracting company had done wonders to make her forget all about… the day’s events.

   “I’m not-“

   “Bullshit.” George’s voice was quiet and arctic-cold. Hermione froze as his eyes bore into hers, a stark contrast to his pale freckled, chiselled face. The brunette had always been better than most at telling the two apart – they were so different to anyone who cared to look beyond the obvious; cared to identify the minute differences that made them individuals and not only two halves of the same whole – but at that very moment, they had never looked more similar.

   “Is it Terry?” Fred’s curt tone rose Hermione from her stupor. “What did he do?” Another hard thud. Oh, God. Why had she let him and George convince her to come out with them? A DVD and Chinese takeaway were a perfectly acceptable way to pass a Friday evening.

   “I don’t have to put up with these baseless accusations,” Hermione grabbed her trench coat and moved to rise from the bench, but George swung up his foot with the reflexes of a seasoned Quidditch player, barricading her in. “Move your foot, George, before I move it for you.”

   “What’s going on with you and Terry, Hermione?” George’s voice was as quiet as before, his eyes now trying to read her expression. Hermione was careful to keep her face blank.

   “I want to leave, George,” Hermione is adamant, her gaze now in the direction of the bustling restaurant, quietly thankful that they had been granted one of the restaurant’s private alcoves. The other customers had yet to be alerted to the power struggle going on right at the eaterie’s heart, but if they were to catch even a hint, it would be splashed all over the papers tomorrow.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Tossing back her hair, indignantly, Hermione prepared to clamber over George’s outstretched leg-

   “Hermione.” The worry in Fred’s voice stopped her mid-lift. She turned back to see the twins wearing similarly concerned expressions; their blue eyes more so than she had ever seen them.

More concerned than she had ever seen anyone’s. And she was a sucker for people showing concern for her; it was so rare.

   “I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione caved, eyes falling to the floor. Above her, Fred and George exchanged another look, before the latter asked:

   “Don’t want to talk about it at all, or don’t want to talk about it _here_?” Hermione paused for a moment, gaze flickering between the two of them. She could still go home, still relax on her huge, comfy sofa with a DVD and some popcorn.

Still carry this heavy burden on her shoulders.

   “Don’t want to talk about it here,” She gave in, eyes still on the wood grain floor. The recessed lighting showed the distress written all over her face, despite her attempts to keep it hidden.

   “Okay,” one of the twins said, gruffly. But Hermione was no longer paying either one any attention, so lost was she in the humiliation and misery that she had been steeping in from almost twelve hours earlier. The humiliation and misery that she had finally allowed to take bitter hold.

She didn’t notice as George requested the bill, nor when Fred shrugged her into her trench. She barely even registered their progess through the still-bustling restaurant, past the few photographers milling outside (who quickly snapped a few shots of the trio), down the rain-soaked cobblestones of Convent Garden, nor the _*pop*_ of side-apparition that took them to large hallway with pine-floorboards.

It was only as George removed her coat and gently guided her to the twins’ living room that she came to, his large hands sending much-needed warmth flooding through her system. She had always loved the twins’ Chelsea flat, having helped to choose it over five years ago when they’d officially moved out of the Burrow. The recessed lighting, wall sconces, pine floorboards, massive cushy sofas, heavy oak tables and vibrant colour scheme of indigo, jade and cream, were picked out by the three of them; the twins following her advice almost to the letter.

It made for a beautiful but comfortable home, a stark contrast to Hermione’s own abode which, with its minimalist vibe and sparse furniture, was better to look at than live in.

   “Here, sweetheart,” Fred said, softly, handing her a mug of something hot. “Drink this.” Hermione took it, sipping it automatically. The two took a seat, denting the sofa on either side of her. The muffled sound of gently falling rain hitting the double-paned windows soothed her somewhat, as did the hot cocoa Fred had poured into the warm mug. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, savouring the rich taste, before focussing for the first time in what felt like hours.

She leaned back into the cushy sofa, ready to face the twins once more. Both were gazing at her with soft expressions on their faces, concern still in their eyes. Hermione couldn’t help but be comforted by their presence; by their… _theirness_. It was part of what had drawn her to them in the first place, what had made her work for them all those years ago.

   “It’s just been one _Hell_ of a day,” Hermione’s voice was more of a croak, constricted by misuse and recent misery, but she managed a quiet chuckle. The twins smiled in relief, their eyes brightening immediately at even the slightest change in her mood. “I don’t even know where to start…”

   “Start at the beginning,” George’s voice was quiet and measured, the way one would speak to a bewildered kitten that would readily flinch at the slightest contact. It worked, though. Hermione‘s nerves settled as she looked back at them both. She glanced down at the half-empty mug, gathering up the courage to say what she hadn’t been able to aloud thus far.

   “Terry broke up with me,” Hermione admitted, gaze still on her cocoa. She felt the twins shift beside her so she rushed on, “At lunch. In the middle of the Leaky Cauldron.” Fred hissed in anger as she glanced up to see George’s eyes narrow.

   “But that wasn’t even the worst part,” she started laughing, mirthlessly. “You wouldn’t _believe_ what he told me.”

   “What?” Even the most obtuse individual would be able to hear the barely restrained anger in Fred’s curt question. So lost in mirthless chuckles was Hermione, however, that she missed its latent warning.  

   “Get this: apparently, I’m shit in bed,” she giggled, the mug shaking in her hands from the force of her laughter. “I can’t orgasm and, according to good old Terry, it’s _my_ fault because – and this is direct quote here, ladies and gentlemen – ‘I’m more frigid than a thousand year-old glacier and less likely to set the bed alight than damp firewood’. Can you believe it?” Hermione was cackling now, head thrown back and tears of laughter streaming down her face, so she missed the looks of anger the twins exchanged, their clenched fists and gritted teeth.

   “He said that?” Fred’s teeth were gritted. Hermione looked up at him in surprise.

   “You _have_ to see the funny side, surely?” She asked, wiping away the trails of moisture from her cheeks. She glanced over at George for backup, but frowned when she saw he wore a similar expression to his twin. “Come on, guys. You’re the pranksters, here!” She jostled their broad shoulders, playfully, barely even shifting them. When their eyes remained angry and their mouths stern, Hermione frowned.

   “It’s funny,” she repeated, less sure, her mug now lukewarm. Fred and George continued staring at her. “It is.” She insisted.

But it wasn’t. And she knew it wasn’t.

   “It isn’t, is it?” Hermione asked, quietly, eyes falling once more to the cocoa clasped tightly in her hands. A milky film had formed on the liquid. The only sounds were those of the still-falling rain pattering on the floor-to-ceiling windows and the ticking of the family clock over on the far wall.

   “It’s just sad,” Hermione’s voice trembled, her lower lip wobbling, uncontrollably. Biting down hard on that wayward lip, the chocolate-eyed girl looked up at the high ceiling. She was not going to shed a single tear over that… that _dick_.

Two arms wound their way around her slim shoulders but Hermione shrugged them off. Comfort was not what she needed right then. What she really needed was…

And in a flash an idea came to her.

An idea that, had she been less upset, would have been immediately dismissed for the foolish, unwise, potentially catastrophic idea it was.

But…

   “Sleep with me,” Hermione blurted out. Beside her, the twins stilled.

   “What?” George’s voice was more a croak.

   “Sleep with me,” Hermione repeated, the idea sounding even better the second time. It gave her the courage to glance between Fred and George who were looking more astounded than she had ever seen them. Hermione rushed to explain, “It’s only when I’m with someone else that I can’t orgasm. By myself, I do just fine.”

Shocked silence.

   “It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” Hermione’s words flooded out before she could close the gates. “Everyone knows that the only thing you two do even better in twos than WWW, is sex.” And it was true. It was a well-kept secret shared among a select few, but those privy to it knew all about the twins’… special talents in that particular area. Hermione had heard at least three women tell tales of how satisfied they had left friends of theirs (it was always ‘friends’ for some reason; never first hand encounters). The three of them were reasonably close; it wasn’t like she didn’t trust them. She knew they would take care of her at the very least, even if she didn’t orgasm.

But the twins were still silent, now doing that silent communication thing of theirs. Hermione’s heart sank. She knew what was going on.

   “Unless – unless, you’re just not interested in – in me.” Gathering up the last remnants of her shattered pride, Hermione put the mug on the small coffee table, the oak muffling the sound, before almost leaping from the sofa. “I’m just going to…”

Shuffling past a still bewildered-looking George, Hermione almost skidded across the polish floor on her way out of the living room. How could she have been so _stupid_? Of course they wouldn’t want _her_. Why would they? Good-looking, wealthy, reportedly sexually skilled; naturally they’d want to stay a mile away from her undoubtedly contagious lack of sexual allure.

She wrenched her trench from the iron-wrought coat rack, not even bothering to put it on, and had her fingers on the door knob before she heard hurried footsteps behind her and felt a hand gently grasp her arm.

   “Hermione, wait,” came a gentle voice. She paused, swallowing back the lump of tears that had taken her throat captive. At this moment, Hermione wasn’t sure what hurt more: Terry’s public dumping or the twins’ rejection. The former had the edge, but just about.

  “Come back.” Another, almost identical, voice came from slightly further down the hall. Reluctantly, Hermione turned to face Fred and George who were once again looking concerned.

   “But-“

   “You didn’t let us answer,” Fred, the one who spoke last, was careful to hold her hesitant gaze, eyes urging her to heed their request. Hermione looked back at George who was eyeing her, carefully. What was the worst that could happen? They’d already effectively rejected her. Surely, hearing them out couldn’t be much worse. And even if it were, what with the week she’d had, it was apparent that she was a sucker for punishment.

Sighing heavily, Hermione allowed George to tug her back to the cushy sofa in the living room. The three took their former seats, with Hermione’s gaze fixed on the now cold mug on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred clench his hands on his knees. On her other side, George appeared just as tense. Great, she’d made them uncomfortable.

_Hermione, why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?_

  “Look, it’s okay, guys, I get it,” she pre-empted them, a self-mocking smile twisting her lips. “You’re fine being friends but you don’t want to take things any further.” She looked up and saw George about to say something, so she continued, “No, it’s fine. Truly,” She reassured them. “I’m just going to go home and-“

   “Hermione, sit down,” Fred’s tone was sharp and commanding when she tried to stand up, his arm moving to restrain her. Hermione obeyed without thinking, George letting out a quiet chuckle as she did so.

   “You didn’t give us any time to process what you said,” Fred went on, more gently.

    “Really, Hermione?” George laughed, softly, gently bringing Hermione round to look at him. “Give us a little more credit. Even if we _were_ going to turn you down, we most definitely wouldn’t have done it like that.”

   “We’re not Boot,” Fred’s face was dark when Hermione looked over at him. Hermione remained silent for a moment longer, glancing between the twins who gaze back at her, earnestly.

   “So, what were you going to say?” Hermione was unsure, eyes wide, radiating the insecurity stemming from several years of bad boyfriends and even worse breakups. A comforting smile graced George’s face, lighting it up in a way that not even the brightest bulb could achieve.

   “Yes.”

   “’Yes’, to what?” Hermione had been made a fool of enough today. She had to be sure that they meant what she _thought_ they meant. From her right, Fred’s large warm hand came to her chin and lifted her face to its smiling owner.

   “Yes, we’ll sleep with you.’

 

 


	2. Part II

 

**... Who _Can_ You Shag?**

* * *

**Part II**

_Five Minutes Later…_

What had she been thinking?

What had she been _thinking?_

This was, without question, the _worst_ idea she had come up with in her twenty-five years of existence on this planet. Sleeping with _Fred_ and _George_? Fred and George: the infamous Weasley twins, legendary pranksters and jokers extraordinaire. Two of her closest friends. Men she couldn’t just dismiss the following day with the knowledge that she’d never have to see them again unless she wanted to.

And never mind all that. If she stayed… if she let them _touch_ her… they’d see. They’d see everything and her life as she knew it would be over.

Making a snap decision, Hermione tried to rise from the coffee-coloured silk duvet, only to have brawny arms tighten around her.

   “Relax, Hermione,” George’s deep tones vibrated down her stiff spine, sending shivers through her. “We’re not exactly here to kill you,” He ended on a laugh but his words did nothing for the brunette, who was perched on the edge of the large four-poster bed, stiff as a board.  

Having allowed Fred and George to draw her up the spiral staircase and into the latter’s huge bedroom, the reality of what they were about to do had finally hit her. She, Hermione Granger, was about to engage in carnal relations with the Weasley twins. How on earth had she _ever_ thought that this was a good idea? The merlot must have affected her more than she’d originally thought.

Just then, Fred returned to the room, having taken off his suit jacket. As he rolled up his sleeves, his green shirt stretched across broad shoulders and a washboard stomach. A small smirk played across his full-lipped mouth, his blue eyes dancing in merriment.

   “Far from it,” Fred took up George’s statement, eyeing Hermione in a knowing way that rushed a flood of heat to her cheeks. “Actually,” his eyes flicker to his silent twin seated behind her. “Maybe if we do it right…” Here the two men chuckled in a carnal manner that Hermione considered shameless. But that didn’t prevent another sliver of excitement from edging its way to the front of her conscience.

Swallowing hard, Hermione watched Fred carefully as he prowled his way across the cream knotted rug, the sly look in his eye making her feel like stalked prey. The smirking man sat down before her, his weight bringing her slightly forward.

   “So,” he drawled, blue eyes flickering over Hermione’s flushed face. “You can’t come with a partner.” Hermione swallowed.

   “No,” her voice was almost a whisper.

   “Well, we’re going to fix that,” George’s confident words drew her attention back to him, even as Fred shifted her so she was facing the far wall, the twins now on either side of her. Hermione clenched her shaking hands.

   “How?” God, that was almost a _whimper_. So on edge was she that she failed to register the twins exchange glances that would have set her face alight.

   “Just let us show off, hmm?” Warm fingers tracing the nape of her exposed neck accompanied the hint of laughter in George’s voice. She turned to see white teeth flash in a wide grin, her stomach turning over like a puppy wanting its belly rubbed.

   “Breathe, then,” Fred was gentle, comforting, his large hand stroking its way up her spine, flooding heat through her system. Hermione did her best to obey, her breath hitching as a result. Two husky chuckles resounded in the cream-walled room and helpless giggles burbled up from her throat. She was being silly. It was just Fred and George; she would trust them with her life. Surely, trusting them with her body was a lot easier?

   “Now close your eyes,” George suggested, stroking her eyelids as she did so, a smile in his voice. “It’ll make it easier.” There was a slight pause as she felt the twins shift slightly beside her, moving closer. Heat radiated from their bodies putting her even more at ease. She was safe with them; she knew that. She’d always known that. _That_ ’s why she’d asked _them_ to do this and no one else.

   “Hard and fast or slow and sweet?” George asked, huskily, his hands moving from her eyelids to caress the silky skin just under her jaw. Heart thudding at the question’s connotations, Hermione swallowed.

   “Slow and sweet,” she replied, hesitantly, going with what she thought to be the lesser evil. She’d never achieved orgasm through the rampant and unskilled rogering her exes had favoured, so perhaps slowing things down a little would bear some fruit.

A moment, then large hands cupped her cheeks, thumbs softly stroking the skin there, before full lips brushed across her own. Warmth flooded through her system and she let out a helpless moan as the searching lips nipped at her own, teasing, tasting. Shivering involuntarily, Hermione gasped as a tongue swept across her trembling, oversensitive mouth, pleading entry. Immediately granting it, she was rewarded by the stroke of the roof of her mouth, shuddering at the sparks that travelled down to her nipples, hardening them instantly.

The relentless, teasing plunder of her mouth had sent her senses spiralling so she didn’t notice when one of the twins moved behind her. She was only alerted to it when another pair of warm lips nipped at her neck. Hermione straightened with a gasp that opened up her mouth even more for the twin before her. He took immediate advantage of that, drawing her tongue into his mouth and stroking it with his own, intensifying the ache building right at the pit of her stomach.

Large, skilled hands trailed down her arms, raising goose-pimples as they went. The twin behind her shuffled forward, pressing his hard warm body into her back. Shuddering, gasping, Hermione’s head swam as her sheath dress was unzipped and pushed down. All Fred and George had done so far was kiss and pet her over her clothes. How was she going to survive what was to come next?

Rough thumbs stroked up her sides, searing their way into her skin, as her throbbing mouth was suddenly released and captured by another. These lips were gentler, caressing their way across hers, savouring. They soothed but incited at the same time, tongue stroking along her own. Moaning, desperately, seeking comfort, Hermione blindly reached forward, her hands coming down on a pair of broad shoulders. The heat of the velvety skin of the man before her burned through her hands and she heard a rough groan tear from his throat. A shudder ripped through her at the husky chuckle that rumbled in the damp chest against her back.

Her nipples throbbed, aching for contact, and Hermione whimpered at the mild caress the cold breeze from the open window provided. She needed something _more_. Almost as if able to hear her, fingers brushed the under-swell of her breasts. Gasping and arching in reaction, Hermione’s head fell back onto the shoulder of the man behind her. Strokes closer and closer to the burning points of her breasts. A moist tongue trailing across her shoulder blade. She was panting, now, _shaking._

   “ _Please_ ,” Hermione gave in, desperation threaded through her voice. She felt the twin behind her exhale, his lips dusting a trail down her arched spine.

   “Open your eyes, Hermione,” the twin before her – George- commanded, gently. Her lashes lifted slowly, blinking several times at the influx of light, low thought it was. A shirtless, muscled George sat on the floor before her, irises a thin ring of ice-blue, mouth a thin line. A light sheen of sweat covered his abdominals, reflecting the light from the wall sconces. His hands rested painfully close to her tight nipples.

   “Your nipples are like strawberries,” George murmured, eyes now devouring the quivering pink-tipped full breasts before him. “We’ve always loved strawberries.”

   “Especially when they’re as ripe and sweet as yours,” Fred was occupied with dropping heated kisses across her shoulders.

   “Have you ever played with these before?” George took up, his gaze still on her nipples, so intense they throbbed even harder in reaction. Shuddering once more at the icy heat of his steady gaze, Hermione wetted her dry lips, George’s eyes flickering up to eye them just as hungrily. Fred’s warm hands wandered to the base of her spine, pressing lightly at its sensitive centre.

   “Not really,” the gasped answer escaped Hermione who was still reeling from Fred’s experienced touch. So, she wasn’t prepared for the sudden quick pinch George inflicted on her throbbing nipples. Issuing a bone-shuddering groan, Hermione melted against the twin behind her whose rough hands were now stroking along her thighs.

   “Pity,” George drawled, his tapered fingers pinching and rolling the aching points of her breasts, sending jolts to her pulsing clit.

   “So responsive,” Fred teased, his warm breath washing over her ear. Hermione jumped as his teeth nipped her earlobe. His hands slid in between her thighs, coaxing them open for George to slide closer to Hermione. A sharp keen pierced the air when George’s hot mouth clasped onto her nipple, his fingers teasing and toying with the other. As he alternated between the two, suckling on each, tongue seeking out every crevice of the creased skin of her nipples, Hermione writhed in Fred’s arms. Not knowing whether to lean in or try to get away, the wet heat of his mouth was so intense it was almost painful.

Tightening his lips and increasing the suction on her abused nipple, George drew back, pulling it with him. Whimpering, voice hoarse, she followed him as he eyed her, mischievously. With a sudden pop, the former Gryffindor released it, leaving Hermione gasping and trembling, nipples moist and almost painfully sore. George’s wet lips stretched into a devious grin.

  “You okay?” Hermione just stared back at him, chest heaving. His eyes fell to her moving breasts, darkening to indigo. “Good,” he continued. Without another word, George bounced up onto the soles of his feet with athletic grace. At the same time, and before Hermione could even register it, the weight behind her lifted and Fred slid off the bed, he and his twin changing places.

   “What are you two up to, now?” Hermione was breathless, but better than a few moments ago and was grateful for the time their quick changeover had given her to regain some of her long lost composure. Fred kneeled between her still-parted knees, an irrepressibly wily smirk and the shadowy room casting a seductive darkness over his chiselled features.

   “I’ve always preferred showing rather than telling,” he replied, a glint entering his eye. Before her muddled brain can think of a clever answer, his work-roughened palms stroked up her inner thighs, parting them even further. She arched, murmuring a complaint when he skipped over where she ached most, going instead to the edge of her dampened knickers.

   “Patience, Hermione,” Fred smirked, stroking his fingers just above her knickers. “Isn’t it one of those virtues you love so much?” Behind her, George barked a short laugh as tingling warmth spread through her abdomen.

   “Git,” Hermione murmured, weakly kicking out in his direction. The only indication that either twin had heard her was a flash of Fred’s white teeth and George’s nip on her shoulder for her cheekiness. The latter lifted her slightly and Fred drew the knickers down her thighs and off. By now, though, her skin was so over sensitised that even the barest touch of fabric fanned the flames. Another moan left her lips as the cold air played over her clit, providing only the lightest contact where she needed much more.

Once more, rough palms skimmed up her thighs, this time coming to a rest right on the uppermost part beside her heated centre.

   “You have a beauty spot right here, did you know?” Fred’s question was rhetorical, punctuated by a brief, hot kiss just beside her outer lips. Arching helplessly, Hermione moaned as she grew even hotter, even wetter. George’s fingers ventured from her waist where they had been comfortingly still, up to her still tight nipples, thrumming them gently.

   “Your pussy is so pretty,” Fred purred, lasciviously, his thumbs now stroking her pouting outer lips. She didn’t need to look down to know where Fred’s eyes were: she could feel almost feel the heat of his gaze on her sore clit. George says something in husky tones but Hermione is so intoxicated with pleasure that she doesn’t catch the question.

   “Do you play with your clit, sweetheart?” George repeats, tracing the inner whorls of her ear with his tongue. A shuddering breath leaves her at the pleasure that accompanies the moist heat. Nodding, helplessly, she twists in their arms, consumed with desire.

   “What, like this?” Fred’s sly tone should have alerted Hermione to what he was up to, but she was beyond thinking at this point. When long tapered fingers swept teasingly over her clit, her eyes shot open, mouth following suit in a silent scream. George continued tormenting her nipples, pinching and rolling them almost cruelly.

   “Is this what you do, love?” She could barely hear Fred over the rushing of blood in her ears, barely feel anything other than the throbbing in her nipples and the circling of Fred’s fingers on her clit. She would swear that she could almost feel every ridge on the pads of his fingers, their roughness adding friction and heat to her already burning centre.

   “Oh, _God_ … oh, _please…”_ Hermione whimpered, panting and writhing under the twins’ talented hands. This was what she had been missing out on, she thought, mindlessly. The circling, rubbing pressure on her clit was _unbearable._ Her nipples burned under George’s torturing fingertips.

   “We’ll get you there, sweetheart,” George comforted, his mouth sweeping across her damp, overheated neck. “Promise.” Hermione whined in protest, surprising even herself. She had become one of _those_ women – and, shockingly, she didn’t even care. Below her waist, Fred breathed warmth over her aching centre and Hermione’s breath hitched.

   “Easy,” He murmured before leaning in and tracing his tongue _right_ over her pulsing nub. Mindless now, Hermione keened, arching back into George who released a rumbling groan.

   “Oh, _please_.” She begged, a lump of frustration coming to her throat. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. Please.” She ended on a sob, sinking her nails into the velvety skin of George’s thighs, past caring about possibly hurting him. But George only shuddered in response, tugging on her nipples in reciprocation. Every caress of Fred’s tongue, every suckling pull on her clit served to push her closer and closer to the edge. She could almost feel Fred’s taste-buds, so thoroughly was he bathing her pussy in wet heat.

   “So ripe, so _sweet_ ,” Fred groaned at her succulent taste, bringing up a hand to circle her entrance. Almost hiccupping now, Hermione’s senses were overloaded by the teasing promise of what was to come. She had never wanted like this, never _needed_ like this. If she didn’t have one of them inside her soon, she was going to die; of that she was sure.

   “ _George_ ,” she pleaded with the only one she knew would be willing to end her torment. Fred had a notoriously cruel streak and George was always the one to reel him back in if need be. George dropped a short, comforting kiss on her upturned, panting mouth.

   “It’s okay, love,” he murmured, thumbs rasping over her nipples as below Fred latched onto her clit and suckled _hard_. “We’ve got you.” He continued, uttering more words of comfort to the desperate, writhing woman between him and his twin. “Let go, sweetheart. We’ll take care of everything. Go on, _come for us_.”

Fred finally stroked two fingers inside her entrance and, with that, Hermione shattered into a million pieces. Her haunting cry echoed around the room as waves of the most intense pleasure she had ever felt overwhelmed her and sped her over the cliff…

………………

The lights were even lower when she came to, with only one sconce still being on. From either side, she could hear the reassuring sound of the twins breathing, confirming that they were still there. The silk sheets were warm under her, indicating that she’d been lying there a while. Blinking twice, she tried to wriggle her toes, but her bones still hadn’t reappeared from their mission to Orgasmville.

Hermione giggled at that. _Orgasmville_. Who could ever have guessed that she would have been able to find it with one partner, let alone two?

_How’s that for frigid, Terry?_

At the sound of her laughter, Fred and George, who had been talking quietly over her, turned immediately. Their faces were oddly cautious but, when they caught sight of her wide, happy grin, they smiled in relief.

   “Wow,” Hermione’s first words broke any remaining ice and the three descended into laughter. The former Gryffindor Princess glanced between them, eyes shining and her brown hair spread across the pillow, surrounding her head like a halo. After a moment, the twins calmed and gazed back at her, unreadable expressions on their faces.

   “So, _that_ ’s what it’s supposed to be like,” Hermione continued, dreamily, eyes turning to the ceiling above her. “I knew I was missing something.” Beside her, George stiffened.

   “Yeah, because those dickheads you were with couldn’t find their way around a sandbox without a map and directions,” Fred snarled in disgust, giving her a possessive look that she didn’t catch. Hermione laughed at the understatement. The twins had no idea of just how bad it really was. None of her boyfriends had agreed to go down on her, despite the fact that they expected her to give them head on demand. She had always been happy to do so until it became obvious that they had no intention of reciprocating the gesture; of doing anything that was technically only to pleasure her.

Calling her former boyfriends ‘selfish’ was like calling Voldemort ‘a mild nuisance’.

   “You have no idea,” she laughed, humourlessly. George brushed a hand, soothingly, over her cheek, seeking to bring her back from the morose place she’d ventured to.

   “Fuck them, how were we?” He asked, an unusual tone in his voice. Surprised that he needed any confirmation of their obvious skill, Hermione turned to her left to see a cheeky grin and dancing eyes. Raising and lowering his eyebrows suggestively, he covered her bare stomach with a large hand and tickled her, relentlessly. Helpless giggles burbling from her throat, Hermione writhed once more, this time in a different kind of pleasure.

   “Stop it, stop it!” She commanded between snorts. “You know you’re good, you… you _plums_!” George stopped his merciless assault, Fred leaning up on one elbow to watch as Hermione turned to them with teary eyes. She shoved both brothers, smiling widely.

   “Ugh, I hate you both,” She feigned annoyance but was grateful for the distraction. The twins just continued grinning, eyes reflecting the glowing light from the sconce on the wall beside the bed. For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in their presence, her breathing returning to normal.

   “So, what do you want to do, now?” Fred’s smile was gentle, his eyes even more so. “Any more wicked ideas, you minx?” Hermione would typically have rolled her eyes at the favoured nickname, but she was too busy contemplating his words. They were really willing to continue this? She doubted that she had shown much finesse, not having experienced anything like _that_ with a partner that wasn’t battery operated, so, what could possibly be in this for them? And should she even bother questioning it or simply take them at their word and seize this probably once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

   “Well, there is this one thing…” Hermione trailed off, coming to a decision but unsure if they’d be up for what she was about to suggest. Such thoughts were perverse, she was sure. Even the twins who were notorious for edging toes over the line every now and again wouldn’t be up for putting both feet firmly over it. She’d best just shut up and stick with the traditional.

   “What?” George prompted her when she failed to continue. Hermione shook her head.

   “It doesn’t matter,” she dismissed, drawing the silk sheet further over herself in an attempt to hide as much of her body from view as possible. She tucked her flushed face into the goose down pillow, praying that the twins would just let it alone. Experience, however, told her that success was a pipe dream.

Lo and behold, a warm hand lifted her face to meet sincere eyes.

   “Tell us,” Fred said, firmly, his strong but gentle grasp preventing her from turning away. Glancing between the identical-looking men and seeing nothing to imply that they were going to laugh at her, Hermione gathered her courage, took a deep breath and –

   “Isn’t there a way for you both to…” she trailed off, nervous, but continued at the twins’ stern expressions. “To- to be inside me at once?” Her eyes slammed shut, screwing tightly closed in dismayed disbelief that she had actually just said that. After watching one of Pansy’s naughty videos in an attempt to bond with her, it had remained a secret desire of hers to try that move with two men. But to actually suggest it..?

Once again, what had she been thinking?

The bed shifted and, a moment later, hands gently parted her thighs once more. George rose up and kneeled between her legs, taking in her wide-eyed expression with a small smirk. The brush of Fred’s warm lips against her ear sent a shiver down her spine.

   “Well, why don’t we try it and find out?”

………………

 

Sighs and groans were the only sounds echoing around the room. Hermione threw her head back against Fred’s shoulder as George’s fingers entered and left her, sparks shooting through her body as they hit _that_ spot. Fred’s groan rumbled through her spine as she fisted his thick, pulsing erection, sweat leaving trails down his broad chest. George panted into her ear, his warm breath making her shiver.

Hands teased and swept over her skilfully, bringing Hermione to a fever pitch. Her clit pulsed, throbbing painfully under George’s toying hand. Her tightened nipples brushed against his chest, the light blonde hairs on his golden skin providing exquisite friction.

   “Can we… please?” She panted between George’s thrusts, his fingers maintaining a frustratingly even pace, regardless of the pleas burbling from her dry throat. George’s sigh turned into a loud groan when Hermione twisted her hand, tugging forcefully on his swollen, purple cock.

   “Not yet, love,” Fred’s voice trembled, breath hitching. “Just a little more of this…”

Hermione didn’t think she could take much more of _this_ but she didn’t have the strength left to say so…

………………

Her bones juddered as their rapid strokes hit her with enough force to rattle the teeth in her head. A blinding light was growing in intensity behind her closed eyelids, pleasure rushing through every vein in her body. Large hands kneaded her breasts, roughly, the twins’ breathing heavily as they plunged in and out of her.

Fred groaned as Hermione’s juices flooded heat all over his swollen balls, her hair sticking to his sweaty shoulders. George gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, head tilted back as he slammed into her arse with careful force. Hermione panted moans as rough fingers tweaked her aching nub and played across the aching points of her bouncing breasts.

 _God_ , she was so close. So… painfully… _close_.

   “ _Fred… George,”_ she husked through a throat made sore from screaming. Their thrusts were erratic now, losing their earlier rhythm.

    “ _Come_ ,” and with that command and Fred’s quick pinch of her clit, she arched her back, issued a silent scream – and imploded.

 


	3. Part III

 

**So, Now What?: (The Aftermath)**

* * *

**Part III**

05:37am

Hermione leaned against her bedroom door, sighing in relief. How she had managed to sneak out of there without waking either Fred or George was beyond her, but she wasn’t about to question her first bout of good luck in what felt like years (admittedly earth-shatteringly good sex aside).

After the three of them had returned to earth (Hermione having fainted and only coming round ten minutes later), they had managed to convince her that staying the night was a good idea. And so she’d slept the best sleep of her life on George’s silk sheets, wrapped up in their warm, brawny arms and intoxicatingly male scent.

Unfortunately, that had only lasted until she had emerged to a rude awakening just ten minutes ago. With consciousness came her conscience, admonishing her for her foolish, reckless ways and urging her to leave before they woke up and were made uncomfortable by her continued presence. After all, it couldn’t be clearer that they had only asked her to stay out of some sense of chivalry; no son of Molly Weasley’s was going to boot a woman out of bed in the middle of the night – they’d been taught better than that.

But morning would come and, with it, rejection.

Hermione wouldn’t – _couldn’t –_ face that, so, call her a coward, but she had gathered up her clothes (finding her knickers hanging halfway out of the window was not exactly a shining moment, let her tell you) and gotten the hell out while the getting was good.

Now she just had to get _them_ out of her head. She had a sinking feeling, though, that that was going to prove to be a lot harder.

………………

_Monday_

There was little Hermione hated more than being late, but there she was: over an hour late for a mandatory meeting with her team. How would she face the knowing, judgemental looks when she walked into the conference room?

Ugh.

Turning the corner and thanking the Heavens for the lifts up ahead (stairs, though healthier, were just not an option today), she quickened her pace, heels click-clacking against the polished floors. Ministry workers, long accustomed to seeing Hermione racing down hallways, dived habitually out of her way, a few clucking affectionately at her antics.

But, just as she was about to line up behind those waiting for the lifts, she caught a glimpse of distinctive red out of the corner of her eye. Heart plummeting to her mules, Hermione turned to her left to see a certain flame-haired pair walking with their balding father in her direction.

Judging by the fact that they hadn’t hollered halfway across the entrance hall to attract her attention, neither Fred nor George had spotted her yet. Silently thanking whoever was listening up there for small mercies, Hermione turned and ran in the opposite direction.

The stairs it was.

………………

_Tuesday_

A small, instantly recognisable owl flew through Hermione’s open office door, landing on the perch beside her oak table. It stuck out its straw-coloured leg and the brunette accepted the offered letter, too ruffled to pat the bird on its head as it had come to expect over the years.

Barely glancing at the envelope, she crossed over to her stone fireplace, gingerly holding the letter out at arm’s length, as if afraid of its contents. A moment later, the missive was hurled unceremoniously into the fire, the three letters on the embossed symbol the last thing to turn to ash.

………………

_Wednesday_

Badly in need of coffee and knowing that nothing other than an offering from muggle-store Starbucks would do it, Hermione turned into Convent Garden, hips swaying in a red, long-sleeved dress.

At the sight of a pair of burgundy wizarding robes waiting in line at the counter, she took off back down the street.

Coffee-less.

………………

_Thursday_

Closing her eyes and savouring the fragrant taste of Ecuadorian coffee beans (cocoa was off limits, for obvious reasons), Hermione flicked her remote at her television, turning it on. Settling down with a hot drink and some trashy reality television was her guilty pleasure; something she gave up for nothing and no one.

Without warning, her fireplace flashed green and a pair of large, boot-clad feet emerged from it, followed by a head of red hair.

When the fire’s former occupant turned around, all they saw was a shattered mug and brown liquid spreading into the sheepskin rug.

………………

_Friday_

Hermione screamed into her sofa cushion with frustration. Why couldn’t they just get the point? She didn’t want to see them (preferably never again, but she’d take just a month’s distance at this point).

It had been a week since their – _encounter­-_ and Hermione hadn’t been able to carry out her usual routine undisturbed, having to fend off several letters, unannounced floo calls and visits, and having to dive into random stores just to avoid them (and then having to make unwanted purchases just to avoid disappointing shopkeepers).

She hadn’t successfully finished a single piece of work, her hair was back to being as out of control as it was in her Hogwarts’ days, and her office was a disaster site. She refused to live like this any longer.

An evil glint entered her brown eyes as a permanent solution to her problem came to her. That was it! She’d just have to kill them! Or at least leave them with injuries that would take several months’ bed rest to heal completely.

The sound of the doorbell ringing brought Hermione back from her imaginings of all the ways she could bring the twins to a nasty end. Perking up, the brunette left her living room and walked to her front door, grabbing a tenner on the way to pay the delivery man. She swung open the door, polite smile at hand, not to the sight of a large pizza box and a non-descript deliverer, but to two tall, muscled, flame-haired men with eyes like cold blue chips.

Without a pause, Hermione slammed the door shut and ran down the hallway to grab her wand, skidding along the wooden floorboards as she did so.

BANG!

 Heart racing, Hermione whipped around to see her front door hanging on its hinges. Fred stood there, wand outstretched; George was beside him, but also, apparently, beside _himself_ with anger. Gulping, she instinctively stepped back. The twins walked in unison right over the smoking door and into the hallway, radiating sheer fury. They came to a standstill in front of her, glaring down at the petite brunette who, after initially having been taken aback at their uncouth actions, was glaring right back at them.

   “How _dare_ you?” Hermione seethed, fists clenched and almost trembling with fury. Her wavy hair swayed around her slender form and she missed the small light of appreciation that entered both brothers’ eyes at the sight. “Get out!”

    “Oh, no, love,” Fred sneered, his mouth curling into a snarl, body rigid. “We won’t be leaving unrewarded. Not this time.” Blinking at their sheer _nerve_ , Hermione allowed her anger to bolster the resolve that had wavered slightly on seeing them full on for the first time in a week.

   “You _will_ be leaving, Fred Weasley,” Hermione snarled back, placing a hand on her hip, indignantly. “Because this is _my_ home and I say so. Now, get the _Hell_ out.” She turned on her heel and made to head up the stairs, only to be pulled back by a strong arm.

   “We don’t think so, sweetheart,” George was the one to speak this time, searing his words right into her ear. Unable to withhold a shudder at his closeness, she pushed away from him. He let her move away, only to forcibly whirl her back around to face them. “You’ve been avoiding us and we want to know why.” Hermione’s head drew back.

   “First off, I haven’t been avoiding you. And second, even if I were, it doesn’t give you the right to – to _bombard_ your way into my home and blast my door down!” Hermione’s eyes were narrowed, tone cutting despite her racing heart. And the latter wasn’t only down to her rage.

Fred and George exchanged disgusted glances.

   “So, what do you call diving into stores every time you see us?”

   “Leaving work early every day this week-“

   “Ignoring our floo calls-“

   “Burning up our letters-

   “How do you know that?” Hermione blurted out, before clapping her hand to her mouth to prevent any more words escaping. _Shit_. The twins didn’t utter a syllable but their expressions said it all: ‘ _Really, Hermione_ ’?

   “Okay, fine, so maybe I _have_ been avoiding you,” Hermione finally muttered the admittance after several long moments, eyes edging away from them for the first time. She noticed that the hallway skirting board needed repainting.

   “Why, Hermione?” George sounded surprisingly hurt and her hurt thumped hard in her chest when she looked back over to see both men looking at her in disappointment, their mouths downturned, eyes clouded. “What happened? Did we do something wrong? Did we – did we _hurt_ you in any way?”

 Hermione’s head was shaking its refusal before she even realised it, looking to reassure the two people who could always be counted on to be upbeat, no matter the place or circumstances. Hadn’t they all learned about their seemingly endless good humour during the war, even when Fred had been seriously injured right towards the end? George had slept in his hospital room day after day for over a month, keeping his brother’s spirits up with improvised pranks and reminding him of their good fortune in surviving when so many had fallen.

She couldn’t stand to see them look so upset, so disappointed in her.

   “No, no, you didn’t hurt me,” Hermione said, softly, eyes wide. At their clear disbelief, she rushed to reassure them, “You didn’t! I just knew that things would be awkward if I stayed and even _more_ awkward if we saw one another before things had time to blow over-“

   “Why would it be awkward?” Fred’s question was quiet and would have seemed rhetorical to one who didn’t know the twins very well. But Hermione did.

   “Because of what I practically _forced_ you into doing!” She screeched, hands coming up to pull at her hair in frustration. “You _know_ you wouldn’t have slept with me if I hadn’t guilted you into it!” For the first time, Fred and George looked bemused, as if they weren’t sure just what Hermione was rambling on about.

   “’Guilted us into it’?” Fred was incredulous, shaking his head. “That’s what you think?”

   “Hermione, love, you didn’t make us do anything we didn’t already want to do,” George released a disbelieving laugh. “When has _anyone_ ever managed to force us into anything?” Hermione was still. She had just realised the true reason behind her continued avoidance of the two men – the relentless guilt from that night’s events pursuing her even in her dreams -  and now they were telling her that it was all for nothing? That she could have had her coffee and drunk it too? Hermione could have almost cried with anger.

   “Oh, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione,” George laughed, coming forward with a smile that lit up the room. “Why do you think we asked you to stay? Do you honestly believe we’d do that with just _any_ woman?” Hermione shrugged as Fred followed behind his twin, a smirk coming to his full lips.

   “I thought you were being polite,” she murmured, eyes on the floor and another flush flooding her cheeks. The two brothers threw their heads back and almost cackled.

   “When have you ever known us to be polite?” Fred asked when they’d calmed, a tear clinging to his eyelashes. Hermione raised a hand to brush it away without thinking, and he beamed at her, pleased. He took hold of her hand, George clasping the other one in his big mitt, and the two pulled her closer to them. Helpless, she allowed it, too entranced by their dancing eyes and the return of their good humour to do much else.

   “But-“

   “But, what, Hermione?” George asked, gently, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing his mouth across her fingertips, sending tingles down her arm. Her breath hitched at the knowing glint in his eye. “We’ve wanted you for some time. Quite a long time, if we’re being honest.”

   “Sure, we’re friends, but we’ve always wanted more, love. We were just waiting for a sign that you were even a _little_ interested,” Fred continued, mouth warm against her cool palm. Mind reeling, Hermione tried to sort through what they were telling her. They wanted her – correction, had wanted her for a while – and she was only finding this out now?

   “Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione slipped her hands from their seductive grasps and slapped both men lightly. “Do you know how many awful dates you could have kept me from?” Hermione folded her arms in irritation at the years she’d spent subconsciously thinking she’d never have the two men she’d always secretly wanted. That she’d have to spend the rest of her life with pale, second rate imitations. They just grinned at her.

   “We were waiting on you, love,” George smiled, stroking a lock of hair away from her forehead, fingers lingering. “Aren’t you the ‘all-knowing Hermione Granger’?” His humorous teasing earned him another light slap.

   “You should have _said_ something,” Hermione’s bossy tone was back, hands on her hips once more. “I thought you only had sex with me out of pity.” George dropped a searing kiss on her pouting mouth.

    “Enough of that, minx,” Fred waved her morose words away, tugging her so she stood in between him and George. “We want you, we’re assuming you want us as well…” he trailed off, searchingly, and Hermione nodded a definite confirmation. “So, there’s nothing more to be said.”

   “Now, where’s your bedroom”? George took up, that mischievous glint of his returning to his blue eyes. Hermione laughed, breathlessly, delighted warmth flooding through her system. If you’d asked her a fortnight ago where she’d be at this very moment, she would never have guessed correctly.

And she’d never have been happier to be wrong.

   “Why?” She asked, playfully, standing on tiptoe to drop kisses on both their freckled yet patrician noses. As Fred grinned down at her, stooping to place another intoxicating kiss on her open mouth, George rolled his eyes.

   “We haven’t shown you all we can do,” he said, matter-of-factly. “How are you going to know if you want to keep us if you don’t properly – try us out?” Hermione glanced up at his saddened tone but his twinkling eyes gave him away.

   “Ugh, do I _have_ to?” She played along, feigning a long-suffering tone.

   “Yes, you do, cheeky minx.”

   “Indubitably!” George spoke over his brother’s laughed remark, eyebrows drawn together in mock-concern. “You didn’t allow us to _really_ show off.” At his exaggerated wink, a giggle bubbled up from Hermione’s throat, her eyes dancing. The twins stared down at her, entranced.

   “Fine, let’s go,” her words ended on a squeal as Fred swung her up and over his shoulder into a fireman’s lift, taking off up the stairs, jostling her with every step. As George bounced along behind them, tweaking her hair and smirking naughtily as they ascended the staircase, Hermione caught sight of her minimalist, monochrome living room.

Hmm… she really _should_ think about redecorating that place. It wasn’t her at all.

 

* * *

 

**THE END.**


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